Fit to Burn
by DarkJackal
Summary: A season 3 vignette.  Kate takes matters into her own hands when Guy of Gisborne intrudes once again into her life.


**Characters: ** Kate, Guy, Robin

**Genre:** Drama, angst  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up to season 3, episode 11  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,259  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Main characters owned by the BBC and Tiger Aspect. I get nothing out of this except an unhealthy enjoyment!  
><strong>Summary:<strong> _Kate takes matters into her own hands when Guy of Gisborne intrudes once again into her life._**  
><strong>

Fit to Burn

Kate stared through the leaves woven into the netting above her. She could see occasional glimmers of starlight as grey clouds passed over the camp. It had been hours since the men had fallen asleep, while she lay awake. Slowly sitting up, she paused to listen for sounds of stirring from her friends, and more importantly, from the demon with which they kept company.

The night was cold, but she was heedless of it, the fire in her mind all but consuming her. She thought of Robin's warning.

"_Revenge...it burns your soul. It can destroy you."_

Her soul did indeed burn, but with a need for justice, of that she was sure. He had no right to deny her retribution against the man who killed her brother. Yet Robin only asked of her the same impossible challenge he gave himself: To accept Guy of Gisborne as an ally. And she had assured him, albeit reluctantly, that she would do this.

Except that had been a lie. She could never forgo her hatred of that murderer. What possible use Gisborne could be to them, she could not see. At the very least, his presence undermined the solidarity of their group. And at worst, they risked everything letting him into the camp, and their confidence.

Climbing deftly off her pallet, she paused for several heartbeats, eyes adjusting to the diffused light of a cloud-shrouded moon. Stepping carefully, she nudged gently at each shadow on the ground, assuring it was no tangible object that might clatter and give alarm. She passed the sleeping form of the man she had grown to care deeply for. She could just make out Robin's features, so often tense with concern, but which were now relaxed. Kate wished she could make him understand that the task before her was necessary, both for her own sanity, and the safety of them all. But she could not risk him stopping her. This would not be the first time she had defied Robin, though were she not careful, it might prove to be the last.

Creeping to the side of the camp where Gisborne was sleeping, she half expected him to be watching as she neared. It was not so. His head was turned toward her, but his eyes were closed, one arm dangling over the edge of the pallet. The sword which killed her brother rested in its scabbard next to him. Half-buried memories resurfaced at the sight of the weapon. Unwillingly, she recalled being caught in his grip while her brother tried to save her, feeling the impact as the sword struck Matthew down. She had been helpless then. She relived those moments in her nightmares, each time finding some way she could have stopped him, had she only been more bold. Now the chance had come to put an end to the source of those regrets, and repay him for the pain he had caused her.

What arrogance Gisborne must have to assume he was safe here. But he had underestimated her. Fingers wrapping around the grip of her knife, she pulled it from the scabbard, inspecting the edge. The blade was as keen as her intentions. The last thing he would see on his way to hell would be her smile, pitiless and pleased.

A sudden gust of wind peeled layers of cloud off the moon's face, and the flash of raw moonlight on the blade's surface was blinding in the darkness. She glanced around, afraid she would be caught, but none were roused. Kate closed her eyes a moment, refusing to allow nerves to get a hold of her, then moved closer to her sleeping enemy. If he woke now, she would be the one bleeding on the ground.

_Don't give him the chance_, she thought savagely.

Heart beating loud in her ears, she lowered the knife close to his throat. Her other hand hovered above his head, ready to brace against the force of the blade. All it would take was one deep cut. It would be just like slaughtering a goat; not a task she enjoyed, but a necessity.

Kate took a deep breath, tensing in anticipation. She would take the life that needed to be excised from their world, and face the consequences afterward.

But instead of moving her arm, she let the breath escape. Her hand locked tighter around the knife's handle. There was no reason why she should not finish this. She had been ready to kill him the other day. The whole gang had been behind her.

_But that was different,_ a cautionary thought drifted through her mind.

"No," she mouthed silently. Nothing had changed between her and this man.

_Yet something has changed between Gisborne and Robin,_ the inner voice persisted.

Kate could not see how that should matter. What happened between them had nothing to do with her own life.

_But Robin's opinion does matter, to you_.

And if that opinion was wrong, what then? Robin had been in the same position once, felt the same burning rage she had, but he had chosen to deny his own revenge. And she could not help but consider that, if he had killed Gisborne then, Matthew might still be alive.

"I can do this," she said quietly. But the tendrils of hesitation had begun to spin into a web of uncertainty. Fear crept into her mind, though not of Gisborne. It was the fear of Robin's reaction; of his rejection. He believed the ability to stop oneself from taking revenge separated good men from bad. She did not accept that. Killing such an evil person could not be a sin. But could she bear to be classified as such by him?

She looked at the killer's sleeping face, appearing for the moment more weary than wicked. "I _will_ do this," she repeated firmly, heedless now of whether or not Gisborne woke. But he remained still, each steady breath a caress against the hand that held his death. And she remained frozen.

Her mind writhed in the web of doubt, only to become more entangled. Robin might even begin to see her the way she saw Gisborne, as ruthless and cold. And in this case, it would be true. She would never feel guilt over this. But as she stood poised to do what was right, all she could see was Robin's face, shocked and disappointed, his features lined with yet more sorrow over the loss of her soul's innocence. To his eyes, she would be forever tainted.

She could hear the sound of a light rain pattering on the leaves, and with it, the fire in her heart was dampened.

_Matthew, forgive me, but I cannot do it. _

The hot tears gathering in her eyes threatened to fall on the man she could no longer kill. "Damn you to hell," she whispered viciously, withdrawing the knife. _Just give me one reason, and I'll make sure you get there, even if I must go with you._

Turning her back on him, she walked to the edge of the camp and hurled the knife into the surrounding darkness. Letting her mind and body numb in the bitter winds, she remained staring toward the place the weapon had landed, until dawn threatened to reveal her solitude. Fallen amid sodden leaves, she knew the blade would soon rust. Kate could only hope that, in time, the sharp pain in her mind would likewise corrode, until it became nothing but a dull and brittle memory.

~Fin~


End file.
